Twenty One
by Winter 'neechan
Summary: For Ienzo's twenty-first birthday, Lexaeus gives Zexion a bottle of wine. A bottle of wine that reminds him very much of a girl that he used to know, one who refuses to be forgotten. Ienzo/ZexionxOC in a sense.


**A/N: So I was bored and while watching Midnight in Paris at my grandmother's house, I was struck with this idea. However, it might be a bit hard to understand it you haven't read the original fic that this one is based off of first, Sinless, as this is a bit of a prequel, but at the same time, it is not nearly as detailed. Understanding Amber and her reactions is a bit easier if you have read Sinless first, though not necessary. Thanks, Chibi, for betaing like you always do!  
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**Disclaimer: I own Amber, Hanabi, and the Full-Bloom Festival, as well as the idea for this fic and it's original, Sinless, but Kingdom Hearts itself belongs to Square and Disney.**

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**Twenty-One**

The bottle sat still full and unopened on the nightstand by his bed, which he sat on, the pale yellow light of the small, heart-shaped moon pooling around him. In his hands, he held a stuffed Moogle doll that he was fairly sure few knew he still had like he was afraid it might disappear. "Ienzo's twenty-one today," Lexaeus had said softly when he had handed him the bottle this morning, which was about the time Zexion began to wonder what in the world his friend was trying to do. Then he wondered if he had noticed that the color of the wine in the bottle was the same color as _her _hair at all-everyone else seemed to have put the girl out of their minds long ago, he was the last one holding onto those memories.

"Time has flown so fast, Hanabi," he said, seeming to address the Moogle he held onto quietly. "Has it really been that long?" She would be turning twenty-six soon, he thought, and wondered how she was doing. The last time he had seen her, she'd been shouting at the ceiling of the castle in Radiant Garden-now known as Hollow Bastion. She had been shouting, but she had been healthy enough, and that was what meant the most to him. He hoped she had gotten even better since then so she could have the normal life she had wanted for as long as he had known her, and Ienzo had known Amber since he was five.

The Moogle didn't answer him, but it didn't have to, he knew it was true. He had let time slip by him through reading and doing missions and not doing much else since he didn't have her to jailbreak him and make his day bright and cheerful anymore. He hadn't had her to 'confiscate' him in nearly ten years, but he still remembered what it felt like to be with her; particularly under a moonlit sky in the fountain court, eating sea salt ice cream and watching fireworks explode above them in earth-shattering bangs and bright flashes. That was his favorite memory, the night of the very first Full Bloom Festival he had ever been to, thanks to Amber's insistence. That memory was why he had kept the stuffed Moogle, Hanabi—Amber had won it in a dart throwing game that he had been no good at, and then given it to him right before the fireworks had started, "So you remember today forever," she had said that night.

Remember that night, he did. That night, and every other moment he had spent with the girl he had thought to be a living angel when he was young—a living angel who might have to return to heaven at any moment, as the coughs that wracked her thin body mercilessly proved often enough. He remembered wondering if maybe he could ask her to tell his parents how he was doing when she went back to heaven when he first got to know her, but he quickly decided that he would rather keep her with him, as she was the only one even close to his age he could call a friend once they got to talking—she even read Tennyson!

"Tennyson!" That was the first thing she had ever said to him, the poet's name had been shouted excitedly over his shoulder in the middle of the castle's dead-silent library, and then she'd slapped her hand over her mouth, embarrassed that she had scared him half to death. Of course, she did it again a few moments later, almost collapsing in a fit of vicious coughs and hacks that brought Lexaeus, then Aeleus, running.

He hadn't talked to her for three months after that. Three months of sitting with her in an infirmary room for hours upon hours with that same book of Tennyson sitting in his lap and her sitting in a chair pulled up to the room's only window. She said nothing to him beyond "Hi," when he entered for those three months, and he was too nervous to ask her if she wanted to read with him before he finally cracked. When he did, instead of him reading to her, Amber took the book from him and read out loud. She read the poem he had been reading when they met, The Lady of Shallot, in a voice that did not waver, a voice so full of emotion he had never heard present in his many father figures, a voice that was so much stronger than the voice he had heard her use before and seemed to tell the story as a personal account that the ten year-old girl who spent much so much of her time coughing and staring out of a window brought him to tears. By the time she put the book down on her own lap and looked up at him, tears were silently but steadily running down his face, which caused her to look surprised for a moment before she told him softly "It's only a story, Ienzo, don't cry," and then slid off the chair, book still in her lap yet forgotten as it hit the floor, to hug him and wipe the tears away with the sleeve of her dress.

Of course, he was smart enough. The more he thought about it, he realized that for Amber, it wasn't just a story told with pretty words. For her, the poem described her life until that moment, and what her life if the future would most likely hold. After he thought of that, he stopped bringing the Tennyson book with him to the infirmary where they often stayed. However, sometimes they snuck out and convinced Aeleus or Dilan to take them on walks around them gardens, which she enjoyed with a young child's enthusiasm, asking what this or that plant was and commenting about various plants in wonder. It was like seeing her really come alive for the first time. Other times, they just talked, sometimes they read (anything but Tennyson) together, on occasion they even got to eat ice cream that Ansem the Wise brought them from his own personal stash of sea salt ice cream and enjoyed it.

Dragging himself back to the present before he could get to the dark times, Zexion looked over to the bottle on the nightstand. Wine. Lexaeus had given him a bottle of red wine the exact same color as Amber Lyone's hair for Ienzo's twenty-first birthday, and while he had read about alcohol's effects, Zexion was seriously considering drinking it anyway to drown out the memories that the color of the wine brought forth. He had the suspicion that Amber would have greatly disapproved if she had known, but then again, he also had a feeling that if things had been different, he would have woken up to her and whoever else she could get in on it singing "Happy birthday" and a cake she had either made or picked out… That was it; he was drinking the wine until it made him forget about her for a little while. Very gently, he placed the stuffed Moogle against his pillow and lifted the bottle from the table with a sort of reverence and, after an amount of cursing, removed the cork. "Happy birthday," he whispered, though to Ienzo or himself, it was impossible to tell.

Why bother with a wine glass when your party consisted of one, he wondered as he took a swig from the bottle itself and nearly choked. The wine was unpleasant tasting, but he pushed the thought from his mind. _Drink, just keep drinking, don't stop until you can't remember her anymore. Forget her and the pain you remember when you think about her, erase her from your memory for a moment and feel the empty joy in being what you have become, as the others do for once, _he thought as he drank down the bitter red liquid that reminded him so much of a certain long-lost friend's hair.

However, Amber refused to go away. When he finally paused in his drinking to look around, a girl of about fifteen of sixteen sat with her knees pulled up to her chest on the foot of his bed watching him with eyes like pale blue moons in the dimness. Hair as red as the wine he was drinking cascaded down her shoulders and back, flowers braided and twisted into it, and her skin was pale like the moonlight in the world he had been born in. She wore a green sundress, and an expression of sadness so contrary to the expression he remembered seeing on her face that day that it shocked him for a moment. "Why do you look so sad?" he asked, taking another long swig of the wine. Almost immediately, the girl lifted one arm to point at the wine bottle without speaking—did she really need to? It was rather obvious that she was unhappy about him trying to kill off her memories with the wine, but Zexion didn't seem to care much. "Let me forget you for a little while, please?" he begged, she shook her head vigorously and came out of her sitting position to lean forward, sitting on her knees and grabbing his coat sleeve in her fragile, pale hand. The alarm in her eyes was nearly tangible, screaming _No! You can't!_ at him. She shook her head again, and in her eyes, he read more. _You're the last one who remembers me, Ienzo! Don't forget me, please don't!_

"…I can't keep up like this, just for a little while, Amber…" He took another swig, to which she reacted by giving a soundless scream and reaching for the bottle. He swung his arm away, and the girl fell short, sprawling across his lap. One hand balled up into a fist and pounded the bed in frustration. When she lifted her body up and met his eyes again, they were desperate, tears starting to build up. _You left me for longer and longer amounts of time until you left me completely. You want to forget me for a little while now, but what then? What am I supposed to do when you want to forget me completely?_ they screamed at him accusingly. He was at a loss for an answer, and in response, took another swig. This time, Amber did nothing but stare at him blankly and let the tears begin to fall. At the second swig, she leaned forward, resting her head against his shoulder, pressing her face into the curve of his neck, and cried in body-shaking sobs that made no sound, just as everything else she had done before had. After a few more swigs, he seemed to become fully aware that the girl was not going away and was in fact quite distressed. He put the bottle down gently on the floor, and then flopped his body down of the bed, but Amber let him go before he could take her with him. With a sigh, Zexion looked up at the girl with the wine red hair sitting on his bed, face covered in tears, and smiled at her. "There, look, I'm done. It's only wine, Amber, no need to get so upset," he said almost soothingly, though the words slurred badly. Her eyes still looked at him accusingly, but the accusation softened a little. "I'm done, you can stop crying now, okay?" She wiped the tears away quickly with one arm, eyes relaying what she wanted to say yet again—_Thank you. Thank you for not forgetting me like all the others._

"You're welcome," he murmured, slurring again. She nodded and placed a hand on top of his. "And don't be worried that I'll want to forget you permanently, I could never to that…you're too much a part of my past." Amber smiled at him and squeezed his hand in understanding before curling up and laying down next to him. Slowly, Zexion put an arm around her and closed his eyes. He would remember in the morning that Amber smiled at him like she used to and kissed him on the forehead before her outline blurred, faded, and ultimately disappeared in a blink. His hand hit his stomach as his arm closed around nothing because she had never been there to begin with, not matter how real he found himself wishing it had been. "Happy birthday," he repeated, slurring to the empty room. He felt even more empty than before—the painful kind of empty. "I turned twenty-one."

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**A/N: Well, that's it! Hope you enjoyed the fic, and if you did, please review. I really appreciate hearing about what my readers liked/disliked, etc.  
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